


Iron Blood, Ambrosial Skin

by scarletSumac



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greek Religion & Lore Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mentions of alcoholism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-28 02:27:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30132591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletSumac/pseuds/scarletSumac
Summary: The gods will have their favourites. It’s but a simple fact.Some gods are feared. Others revered. And more still that are both. And their favoured mortals tend to receive the same treatment.  Perhaps most important to the favoured is that they are blessed with divine gifts, seemingly at random.Your name is Qrow Branwen, you're a favoured, and you hate it.A Qrow/Clover AU in which the Olympians are the gods of Remnant
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Just fyi, this is a repost of an older work that i'm rewriting and editing. And my update speed might be kinda slow. 
> 
> But if you enjoy this, please do leave kudos or comments letting me know

It’s a cool evening in your room when you notice an approaching shadow. 

“Hello, children.” a cold voice said. You had not heard her come in. 

You look up. And there stood a woman. Taller than any woman you’ve ever seen, with jet black hair and skin the colour of stone, and eyes like polished black opals, shining and shimmering with streaks of blue and gold within. On her head she wore a strange crown, it looked like it framed her face with white thorns, but with extra spokes coming down on either side of her head. 

“Hello, lady.” your sister replied. She was always a brave one. 

“H-hello, lady.” you said too. 

She smiled at you, and she bent down, reaching a hand out to each of you. 

“Father says we are not to have anything to do with strangers.” you say.

She laughs at that.

“Silly children. I was at your birth. And I’ve granted you my gifts.” 

“You were?” Raven replied, and you watched as she stepped forward, curious but cautious. 

The woman kneels. “How old are you now?”

“We’re eight.” Raven says proudly, and you nod. 

The woman hums. “Ah, yes. Time passes quickly for you doesn’t it?”

You look at each other. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” you say. “How do you know us?”

The woman laughs, and as she does you see her teeth are jagged like broken rocks. 

“Dear children, I am your patron. And you are my favoured.” she smiles, “I have much to tell you, and things to show.” 

She stands again, holding out her hands. “Would you like to know about your talents?” she smiles. “You are very special children, to be chosen by me. And I’d like to give you the guidance you need.”

Raven thinks for a moment, and you share a knowing look. She could tell you why people called you… things. _Cursed boy, witch-child, bad omen_. Each of you reach up to take her hand.

And you’re interrupted by a scream. 

The woman’s smile turns to a scowl, and her head rotates at an unnatural angle towards the door. 

You look over to see your father, frozen in place. 

“Get away from my kids!” he yells, going for his dagger. 

The woman let out a screech and a hiss, and in a cloud of black smoke, she was gone. 

Your father runs towards you, hugging you both close. 

“Qrow, Raven. Oh, my babies, who was that? How did she-” he gasps, holding you close. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

You both hug your father.

“Are you both alright?” he asks, checking you both for any wounds or bruises. “Did she hurt you? Did she-” he stops. You look down, and on the back of your wrist, where the woman’s thumb was, was a small mark that wasn’t there before.

======

This is where they called the Oracle. 

You had never visited one before, though you knew what they were. People favoured by the god Apollo, gifted with incredible prescience and knowledge, who could commune with Remnant’s gods and ask for answers no mortal could ever know. 

You and Raven knelt on the floor in front of her temple. You’d glance at each other, knees beginning to ache from the wait and legs beginning to lose feeling. 

She emerged. She was speaking to her patron, you knew, and no one could enter when she did, or they’d be burnt to ash. 

The oracle removed her blindfold, revealing golden eyes like sunlight shining. 

“You are a lucky man, Jay.” she announces, “They have indeed been chosen as a favourite of the gods, and granted gifts just as I have.” 

Your father steps forward, nervously, “Who has claimed them? Which of the twelve?” 

The oracle shakes her head. “Your children’s patron is not one of the twelve.”

You and Raven look at each other, confused. 

“Your children are favoured by the goddess of crossroads herself. Lady Hecate smiles upon your twins.”

You look up at your father, and for a moment between the shock you swear you see disappointment. 

Raven grits her teeth, curling her hands into little fists. _Ah_ , you think, _she saw that too_. 

_Well then_ , you think, and you look at the crowd, faces of thinly veiled horror, disgust, fear. You look at the oracle’s golden eyes again, for something so brilliant, they lacked all the sun’s warmth. 

Something in your heart hardens as you make little fists of your own, your nails cutting crescents into your palms. 

_So be it._

==============================

That was years ago, you think, taking another swig. 

Raven was gone, off doing her own thing. Tai was busy with his own little ones and Summer. Oh sweet Summer, she passed too soon. 

_Just your luck._ You thought. 

It’s a lonely life as a spy. 

No one else here but you. You survey the nearly empty village streets from your inn room, Harbinger resting just out of the moonlight and under the window ledge. 

You’ve met a few more favoured before, on your travels. Heck, even Tai was favoured by fucking Apollo and Summer was the grey-eyed maiden’s darling dearest. 

You take another swig, cursing at the half empty flask. You swear you had more an hour ago. 

You sigh, checking the clock. You had ten minutes. 

Time to prepare. 

You ran your fingers through your hair, ruffling it just enough to seem messy but _stylishly_ messy. 

You spritzed a little bit of cologne and undid a button or two on your shirt. You had already showered but you head back to the bathroom to check your reflection. 

Attractive scent, check. 

Sexy hair, check.

Please-fuck-me-I’m-desperate outfit, definitely check. 

If your damn target doesn’t fall for this, you’re going to kick yourself for losing your touch. 

But of course knowing your luck, you’d end up tripping over your own leg and landing face first into the carpet. 

There’s a knock at the door, and you grin. 

_Ah, there he is._

You open the door, leaning against the frame with a practiced grace that seemed oh so unintentional. 

“I told you I’d be up once I finished my shift.” he says, his blue eyes glinting with lust, barely able to make eye contact. 

“Well come on in.” You smirk. 

_You still got it, Branwen, you still got it._

======

It doesn’t take much for the man to come undone under your touch, for him to moan your name and beg you for _more, faster, harder_. 

It doesn’t take much more than that for him to talk about the person you’re stalking. His drinking habits, how he comes into the inn and sits at the bar every two weeks on a sunday. 

You laugh in bed with him, admiring the bruises you left, the smile of the sweet guy as he checks out your profile. 

“Umm… I- I uh… gotta get back to my next shift.” he mutters. 

You chuckle, leaning in to kiss him one more time, and he melts under you, almost dragging you in for round two. 

“Go on then.” you smirk at him, “If I pass by again, I’ll hit you up.” you wink. 

He hurriedly gets into his work uniform and scuttles off. 

You sigh as the door shuts. And after another sweep of the room, you get dressed and pick up your scroll. 

You hear a crackle as Oz picks up. “I got info on your guy.”

==============================

You find yourself in Atlas a few weeks later. Walking the streets of the city in the sky. 

You pass by a temple as you wander, and you spot a crowd gathering around a child, the oracle there grins, her golden eyes blindingly joyous. As she announces this kid as a favoured of Artemis. 

“She shall be a great huntress, if she chooses such a path.” she smiles. 

You huff. 

It’s some bullshit that Artemis gets to help her kiddos cheat a little in the huntsman exams. You watch a little longer and storm off. 

You walk down beautifully paved streets, lit with warm blue and yellow light. Happy couples pass by, as does a family of faunus. Across from you, you spot a lone man trying to make his way past a rowdy group of kids. 

And while watching him you stumble. You’re about to curse your dumb luck that there’s a puddle when you’re caught and hoisted back onto your feet. 

“Hey- thanks” you grumble, looking up into bright green eyes and a worried smile.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” a warm voice replies, “you should be careful where you’re walking.” 

You grunt an acknowledgement and wander off. Glancing back to make sure you aren’t being followed, only to see the man still staring at you. 

He winks, and you can feel your face heat up. 

A big woman approaches him and looks between you and him, and grins, slapping him hard on the shoulder. 

You hurry off. Maybe you could stop wasting time and actually go see James now. 

And maybe that’ll stop you from realising your wrist feels like it’s been frostbitten where he touched you.


	2. Aggrievocation

You think that perhaps as a favoured, your chances of meeting other favoured ones are somehow exponentially higher. 

It’s some bullshit really. 

Even the people you’ve met along your travels think aloud in absolute wonderment what it’ll be like to meet a favoured. 

_Are they radiant like the gods themselves?_

_Do the favoured of Hermes really run fast as the wind?_

_Can the favoured of Hades really speak to the dead?_

You rub the back of your wrist, the mark hidden under your wristband, take another bite of your bread roll. 

_Annoying._

You had an old friend who’d share your views. The frustration, having people who’d fawn over you once they find out you’re favoured and then running the other direction when they know who chose you. 

Or in her case, what her gift could do. 

At least you’re not the only one who’s cynical. 

You’re back at Signal, just having your (rather late) lunch in the teacher’s lounge when you get a message from Tai. Causing you to simultaneously want to hurl your scroll across the room and to pick up your niece and hug her. 

You decide to do the latter. 

You hurriedly shove the rest of the food into your mouth and sprint out to find your brother-in-law. 

You almost miss it, and you catch your hand on the door frame, snapping yourself into the training room. 

Class has been dismissed for the day, but Tai and Ruby are still here. Your niece sees you and within seconds, a ball of petals slams you in the chest. Her little arms wrapped around your torso.

“Uncle Qrow!” she squeals. 

And you look down into bright silver eyes. 

“Heya, kiddo.” you ruffle her hair. 

She grins, and for a moment there she looks just like Summer. 

You catch a glance of Tai’s sad smile. 

“So your dad says you’ve got something to tell me.”

She bounces a step back. 

“Yea! I was training with the moving dummies and I thought I was gonna miss my shot and I kinda knew I angled it a little too much to the side but I didn’t think it was gonna be _that_ off and-”

“Uh huh, and then?”

“And then I saw… a hand. I saw like a glowing hand come and push my rifle. And when I pulled the trigger I hit the target straight in the chest! And it was cool!”

“I see. Well then, I guess it’s time for a visit to an oracle, huh.”

Tai nods. 

“Go pack up your stuff and we’ll head over right away.” Tai says, and Ruby nods and skips away. 

“Maybe she’ll be like her mother.” you say, low enough that Ruby can’t hear. 

“I- I hope so.” Tai replies. 

You put a hand on his shoulder. 

“I hope so too.”

==============================

There’s a certain dark tinge to everything you see. 

Pessimism, people call it. 

Realism, you rebut.

The pessimism is there, you do admit, though you don’t really show how you see things. Not really, not around the kids. 

Your nieces need to see that there’s hope in the world. So you shut it away. You smile your sardonic smile and huff and take a swig. Because what else can you do? 

Life ain’t all sunshine and rainbows, you’ve seen it. These kids will, eventually. 

You hope the day doesn’t come so soon. 

So here you stand, outside Apollo’s temple with Tai. A nervous look is etched across his face. Ruby kneels outside the doors, her little hood up, crescent rose still strapped to her back, a bag of school books on the floor by her side. The crowd of curious spectators has already begun to gather. 

Just a kid. 

A kid about to find out something that could change her life.

It takes a whole lot of mental energy to not think about your own meeting with the oracle. It takes a whole lot more to not remember the crowd’s faces, the looks of terror, the whispers. It takes more still to push away the doubt. 

_What if it’s not one of the twelve?_

_What if it’s a dark god?_

_What if it’s_ your _god?_

_Unlikely_

The oracle emerges. Ruby looks up. 

You release a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. 

And unlike for you, the oracle removes her blindfold, and she smiles. 

==============================

Yang was a favoured too. 

You swear this shit runs in families. Or at least it’s more common that the favoured of some gods tended to the huntsman path. But for _all_ of your family to be favoured? That’s the fates fucking with you, that’s for sure.

You remember when she was chosen. 

Yang was playing with Ruby one day, and the ball got tossed off into the bushes. She ran to get it only to be confronted by Ares himself. 

You wonder what the war god saw in a tiny little blonde girl, but you guess you know now. 

Yang could literally stop a truck if she really wanted to, could get thrown halfway across the sparring ring and get up with eyes aflame and barely a scratch. 

You smirked as you watched her and Tai spar the other day. 

She’s getting better too. 

Sweet kid. 

Just as you watch now, Yang hugs Ruby so hard she might crush her. 

“You’re a favoured! And you’re going to Beacon too! And we’ll get to be together in school! I’m so proud of you!” Yang practically yelled, shaking her. 

“Yay!” 

“C’mon kids, grab your stuff, the transport’s coming to take you to school.” Tai yells out the door. 

“I wish Uncle Qrow could send us off too.” Ruby says. 

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’s thinking about us.” Yang replies, patting her little sister on the head. And they head inside to grab their bags.

You were _technically_ here. Not that they’d know. 

You perched in your bird form, on a high branch, obscured by other foliage. 

You just wanted to make a stop on your way to your next mission. 

They grow up so fast don’t they?

You take to the air again, before anyone sees you. Especially Tai, he… wouldn’t be too glad that you didn’t drop down to say hi. 

You soar through the skies, it’s a long flight to the next town but at least it’s faster than walking. Quieter too. 

You have some time to think. 

To brief yourself on what’s going on. Oz kept his secrets but he told you what you needed to know. Enough to stay alive and stay out of sight. 

You appreciated that. If you were ever caught, they’d find you useless pretty quick. Can’t spill any secrets if you didn’t know the secret. 

You flutter and stabilise after a gust shoves you a little off course. 

And you find your mind wandering to your nieces again, thinking about how they’re going to enjoy Beacon as much as you did. Maybe more. Oz did have a way with kids that made him a good mentor. 

It makes you wonder if you could ever be the same. 

You let out an annoyed squawk. 

Too many bad thoughts for a flight that’s barely started. If you were your usual self you’d sigh. 

Maybe your village was right after all, if they could see you do this now. 

_Cursed boy, witch-child, bad omen_.

It’s better if they don’t know. If they never had to know the monster that you were fighting. Didn’t make anyone like you any more though. 

Another annoyed squawk. 

You need a drink. 

==============================

You find yourself in a bar in Atlas again by the end of the month. 

Finally some down time between missions for Oz, and you’ve got nothing to tell James this time, so no need to check in. 

You take another sip of your whiskey and scan the room. 

Seems like a decent place to pass out in. 

A woman catches your eye as you take a look around. 

She’s in a rather low cut white dress with a hem so high you wonder how she isn’t flashing half the bar. Her hair is a warm red, and she’s got a mole just above her lip. 

_Cute._

She’s chatting with her friends at a corner table when she notices you. 

She crosses her legs, twirling her curly hair. 

_Ah_ , you think, as you raise your glass in acknowledgement. _She’s checking you out too._

You give her the signature Qrow Branwen wink and smirk and she blushes. 

Well. you’ve got some down time. 

Might as well have some fun. 

=======

You sneak out of her apartment the next morning. Quietly so she wouldn’t wake. 

One night stands were common, or at least common how you did your intel gathering. Your sneaking out was well practiced by now. 

You rubbed your wrist, the band of black leather still covering the mark. 

She was a sweet one, got a great body and an even better mouth. 

You smirk as you make your way down the street and back to your safehouse. It was a good distraction, you suppose. 

Something other than alcohol that could take the edge off. 

You spot a cafe some blocks off and skip across the road. You’re in a good mood, you could use something nice for breakfast. 

You get your usual black coffee and ask for an additional two pumps of sugar syrup. And a breakfast bagel, with extra cream cheese. 

It’s a good day, might as well. 

And of course just as you think that you bump into someone, again.

Your coffee almost goes flying when a strong hand catches your arm and steadies you without a drop spilled. 

“Hey- careful ther- Oh. Hi.” comes a familiar voice. 

You look up into bright green eyes and a warm smile. 

_It’s him._

There was a man before you in a brown leather jacket and a deep blue t-shirt. And though the jacket covered his arms, you could tell they were pretty big. 

“Hey. Thanks. Again.” you half laugh. 

“Didn’t think I’d see you around again. Lucky me, huh?” he says. 

You smirk and you can see his cheeks begin to colour. “I guess so.”

“So uh… do you stay around here?” he asks.

“No, I was just wandering. I travel a lot actually, I’m not even from Atlas.” 

_Wait why did you say that?_

“I see… Well if you need a tour guide, I’ll be around. I’m Clover, by the way.” he says as he extends a hand. 

“Bran,” you respond, shifting your paper bag to shake his hand. 

“Bran.” he smiles, and you relish in how it rolls so smoothly off his tongue. “I shouldn’t be taking you away from your wandering, it was nice meeting you.”

You smirk, huff a little laugh. “Yea, nice meeting you.”

You turn and wander off, and you can still feel the guy- Clover’s, eyes on you, and you add just enough well practiced, irresistible swagger to your walk. 

A quick glance behind confirms that it works. 

==============================

It’s a while before you return to Beacon, and you’re day drinking again. 

It’s bad, you know. 

But when your semblance causes all kinds of shit luck to befall everything indiscriminately, why wouldn’t you be downing a glass of rum at two p.m.?

A whistle catches your attention. 

“Now that was a match!” the bartender says, watching the Vytal Festival on the holoscreen. 

“That was a mess.” you snort. 

They’re kids, barely into their time at Beacon, what would they know about a real fight? 

“What? You didn’t like them, the Vale kids or any of the rounds before that? What fight are you here for?” the bartender asks, washcloth still in hand. 

Behind you you hear the low hum of an Atlas military ship coming in to land. 

You smirk, taking your last swig, and you get up, tossing a few lien onto the counter.

The floor seems to swirl beneath your feet and you chuckle as you stagger out. You’ve had to fight bigger grimm with more in your system. 

A little lady who hates your guts isn’t gonna be that big of a challenge.

Maybe the general’s Favourite Miss Frosty would just take you to him, no questions asked. 

Who are you kidding? With your luck, she’ll probably make some snippy comment about cutting your tongue out. 

Upon turning the corner onto the main boulevard, you spot the Atlas ‘droid procession. 

You smirk, rubbing your wrist.

_Ah fuck it_. You’re here and haven’t gotten Harbinger out in weeks. 

_Time for a little fun._


	3. Break Shot

Lies come easy to you, with just enough of a sprinkling of truth, that it’s not really irrefutable. As a spy, it’s safer. 

_Where are you from? Vacuo (Outside of Mistral)_

_What’s your name? Bran (Or sometimes Dagen, or Adel, or Nasr or whatever else floats their boat)_

Easy, these other names are a part of you now. These other people who are you but not you. It’s safer, you tell yourself, to have people held so close that they can’t see the bigger picture. 

Or at least, let ‘em think they’re close. The flirting makes this much easier.

But then again, there’s something so unsavory about lying, about keeping secrets. So most of the time you lie by omission, can’t really question what you don’t know, right?

Raven would snort at you if she knew. 

You wonder if it’s just from your spying or because of your semblance, your _great gift_ from the lady of the crossroads herself, that you think that any more lies than necessary just makes things... Complicated. 

So you fine tune what you say, you control how you look, how you act. The alcohol helps keep appearances up. Who would ever think that a drunk guy was really in control? 

Safe and easy. Just lie when necessary and all will be well. 

But of course knowing your dumb luck, you think as you internally shake an angry fist at the divine gate, bad things were bound to happen. They always do around you. 

When Beacon fell, when Oz died, your mission and all your lies, your secrets started to unravel. 

Almost dying to a madman’s poison didn’t help things either. 

“What’s your favourite fairy tale?” you remember asking. Clutching your stomach as the throbbing pain radiated from the wound. 

You remember telling your niece and her friends that no, you yourself couldn’t fly. Yes, you could turn into a bird. No, please don’t pet you, it messes up your feathers. 

And all while in incredible pain and no booze to numb it either. 

You think if you saw your past self you’d pat yourself on the back for that. You’re drinking far more these few days. 

But of course, knowing your luck, things would take a turn for the worse. 

Because every secret you thought was real turned out to be a lie or a half-truth. Did Oz ever tell _you_ the truth? 

_Can’t question what you don’t know, right?_

You stare out the window of the house you’re in, the kids you’re supposed to be watching out for asleep in the other room. You take another swig, this was whiskey once, the taste is a little off, but alcohol is still alcohol and you’ve survived worse. 

Madman’s poison, remember?

Oz. Oz and his stories, his warmth, his way with kids that made even you feel special. 

_What a great load of crap that was._

You remember what Jinn said, when Ruby forced the relic to answer. 

Oz and his secrets. Oz and his divine mission. Oz, the favoured of all the gods. 

Imagine that, what kind of fucking saint do you have to be to be granted gifts from all the twelve? 

_Fuckin-_

You take another big gulp. 

You set the bottle down quietly, check that no one’s woken up, and you undo the leather that binds your right wrist. 

The black mark still remains. 

Shaped like the intersection of three roads that swirl and taper off at the ends, and between each arm of the roads are black drops, if they’re supposed to be blood or poison, you don’t know. 

You snarl at it. 

The greatest witch-goddess of all time and she had to gift you with misfortune. 

Was this some sort of test? Some sort of skill challenge you needed to pass? Or maybe she really thought she was giving you something good. No one really knows what they’re thinking up there. 

You drain the rest of the bottle before wrapping the leather strap back over the mark, ensuring that it covers all of it. 

You want to get another bottle but you’re swaying more when you walk now. And this is the… third? You want to say third empty bottle. 

Trying to pretend your nieces don’t look at you with those sad eyes is getting harder and harder. Yang gives you the ‘really in front of the kids?’ look and Ruby just looks so sad it’s pitiful. 

You shut your eyes for a moment. 

Okay maybe you’ll stop. Before they sit you down and give you a little talk. 

Just one more bottle maybe.

And let you refill your flask too. 

And maybe stash another one…

Okay, fuck, you might have a problem.

======

Okay, fuck, you _do_ have a problem and it stops now. 

It takes Weiss and Ruby little effort to drag your drunk ass off the barstool and onto the cart. 

You remember with embarrassment, the anger and the shouting at Weiss to stop throwing bottles of precious liquor at the cellar door, the rage you felt when you looked over and saw grimm. 

These freakish, lanky, howling with too-wide open jaws, grimm. 

Grimm that you somehow didn’t notice, you didn’t want to investigate what’s wrong with this house, this little settlement. You didn’t even bother.

You almost reach for your flask. 

You couldn’t protect them. 

You didn’t protect them. 

_What’s wrong with you?_

You’re drunk off your ass most of the time is what’s wrong with you. 

Licensed huntsman, your fuckin’ ass. 

You- you find yourself angry, embarrassed, and for the first time in a long time, hungover. 

It’s still quite a trip to Argus. 

Oh and great, your childhood hero is now sitting with her legs dangling off the back of the cart. And you spent the past few minutes trying not to slur your way through telling her how much you looked up to the Grimm Reaper. 

Thank you fates, for that brilliantly humiliating display of prowess. Yes, you definitely wanted to be swaying and grumpy and drunk while-

Right, shouldn’t get angry. You unclench a fist you didn’t even realise you were clenching. 

You still remember that fight back in Beacon. 

_“He was drunk!”_

_“He’s always drunk!”_

You heave a sigh. 

“Uncle Qrow?” Ruby leans over, half whispering.

“Hey kiddo.” 

“You doing okay?” 

You huff a laugh and try to ruffle her hair, but just settle on patting her head instead.

“Yea, I think so.” 

“You...” she starts, but trails off. 

“What?”

“Umm… you haven’t touched your flask all day.”

You sigh again. “Yea. I- I guess I haven’t. Better time than never to quit, huh?”

She smiles at you. 

“I believe in you, Uncle Qrow. You’re doing really good.”

_How does she still believe in you after all that? How does she still have hope?_

“Don’t-” you grit your teeth, “Not yet. Don’t say that yet.”

She smiles a little sadder. “Okay.”

You rub your wrist again. 

Sometimes you wonder if you rub it hard enough, the mark will go away. 

It’s gonna be a long journey. You’ve tried to stop drinking before, a decade ago. 

Didn’t go well. 

_But_ , you think, looking over at your niece, her red cloak the same shade as yours. _Might as well try again._

==============================

It’s been many months since you’ve been in Mantle. 

You preferred it over Atlas, actually. You preferred the seedy nightlife, the interesting characters, it’s also where your targets preferred wandering around.

Maria leads you down the road after you all ditched the ship that brought you here. Hearing a cold voice _politely requesting_ you to land in a specific bay isn’t exactly the most welcoming thing. 

You pass a few people, all cold and shivering, dressed as warm as they could. Despite the heating provided to Mantle, it still doesn’t really make the place a warm, sunny getaway. 

It’s a bit of wandering before you get to what looks like a clinic. 

Something curls in the pit of your stomach when you walk in. 

“I didn’t think I’d need to introduce one of Altas’ finest minds.” Maria quips, when she’s seated comfortably on the examination bed. 

Pietro seems nice enough, but the more he talks about how he knows team RWBY, the more he says how his daughter’s been telling him stories, the more nervous you get. Though you don’t show it.

As you’re glancing around you notice a familiar symbol on his desk. A paperweight carved in the shape of a hammer striking a mountain. 

You’ve gotta be joking. 

The fates. Are absolutely screwing with you right now.

“Pietro.” you say, interrupting his chat with Maria. “Nice paperweight.” 

The man smiles, “Ah that. That’s a little reminder for me.” 

“From your patron?” you ask, with an eyebrow raised.

He nods. 

“Hephaestus,” he says with a disarming shrug, as if he’s been asked too many times. “Not sure why he picked me, but who’s to question the gods, huh?”

He chuckles as he gestures to his legs and the walking chair. “Well, okay maybe this part makes it a little more obvious.”

You smirk at him, though you’re not sure if your smile carries your frustration and envy. 

Ruby and Nora are already asking him questions. 

_What’s it like?_

_What gift did you get?_

_Hephaestus doesn’t choose many does he?_

The nervous feeling doesn’t go away. You know your shit luck will rear its ugly head soon. 

A siren blares outside. 

And there it is. 

Grimm are showing up. Which is annoying enough. And then just as you’re done dispatching with them, you see the kids you’re supposed to protect go down around you, and before you can figure out what they’re tied up in, you get knocked off your feet yourself.

“Good work team!” you hear, as a group of uniformed soldiers surrounds you all. 

That’s… a familiar voice.

“Hey pal!” you yell up from the ground. “I’m a licensed huntsman. Just helped save everyone?” 

He looks down, twirling what looks to be a horseshoe and you see recognition in those warm green eyes. 

Gotta say, the man looks pretty good in uniform. 

_No, stop it, not the time._

He reaches for Harbinger, takes amused, curious glances between you and your weapon.

Pietro is trying to defend you, which is a nice gesture, you think. 

Though it does nothing to stop the other Atlas droids from rounding all of your weapons up and start hauling you all into a prisoner truck. 

“Doctor, good to see you!” Clover starts, and you try to wiggle around to see what’s going on. 

“Well, we heard a report of an unauthorised ship making an unauthorised landing, followed by an unauthorised use of weapons by non-licensed huntsmen.” 

He spares a little glance back at you as you’re being picked up by droids. 

And right now you want to kick him right in his perfect ass. 

======

More and more odd and interesting things are happening, and it’s only your first night here.

For example, dear old Jimmy giving you a hug. You roll your eyes, but you know the man’s trying, he’s scared but he’s trying to be nice. 

One day months ago, he said that if you were one of his men, he’d have you shot. 

You remember replying that if you were one of his men, you’d shoot yourself. 

“I uh… Have work to get back to. We’ll get some coffee sometime?” he asks you, and you smile a little. 

“Yea. Sounds good.” you reply. “I’m gonna go get some rest.”

You head to the elevators, to a waiting Clover, leaning against a pillar with arms crossed and far more poise than you’d expect the man to have. 

“Waiting for me?” you ask with a smirk. 

“I didn’t know you knew the general.” he says, “Heck, I didn’t even know who you were. You’re-”

“A legend? Yea I get that sometimes.” you say, rolling your eyes. “Didn’t peg you as the straight-laced military type.” 

“I… get that sometimes too, heh.” he replies. 

You itch to reach for your flask but instead put your hand in your pocket. 

“So Jimmy told you everything, huh?” 

He stands upright and strides towards you. 

“He told us what we need to know. About the real threats of this world. About Salem.” 

“Good. We’re all on the same page then.” 

You nudge the elevator button with a knuckle. 

There’s a pause before he speaks again, “So.” 

“So?”

“Bran?” 

_Really?_

You smile at that, not the sultry smile you give your targets but an actual grin. 

“One of the names I like going by. If word got round that I was wandering around a town, I’d be swarmed in an instant.” 

“I see.” he says, a look of understanding in those bright eyes. Getting swarmed by fans is one thing, enemies though… That’s more trouble than anyone’s willing to put up with. 

He extends a hand. “Let’s try this again, for real this time. I’m Clover Ebi.” 

You smirk, shake his hand. “Qrow Branwen.”

Another pause, and he says “The offer’s still open, to show you around town, I mean.”

“Hmm” you huff. “I’m not opposed.”

“How does tomorrow sound? I’m sure you’ve had a long day and you could use some rest.”

The elevator dings and you step in.

“Heh, is that your way of saying I look like shit?” 

“Oh no, no! I mean, it’s pretty late and uh- wait-”

The doors begin to close and you catch it with a hand. 

“Tomorrow’s good.” you say. 

“Great! I’ll meet you at the courtyard at ten then?”

“It’s a date.” you smile. And the doors slip shut. 

You lean against the back wall as you descend, absently rubbing your wrist. 

_Okay_ , you think. _Let’s add one more interesting thing to the list._


End file.
